


Skirt, Dirt, Worth

by ardett



Series: (Behave) Be Brave [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anxiety, Gen, Gender Issues, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Genderfluid, Panic Attacks, Self-Worth Issues, Trans Voltron Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-24
Packaged: 2018-09-26 09:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9883193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardett/pseuds/ardett
Summary: Lance wants to see Pidge wear skirts and makeup. (But really he doesn’t.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [Trans VLD Week](https://transvldweek.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Day Two Prompt: Self-Expression

“I’m a girl,” Pidge says.

Lance chokes.

“What? You’re a girl? How?” (Of course, he knows how, of course he knows how. They have different things than he does, they do different things than he does, they’re just… different. And he doesn’t have… No, he doesn’t have anything.)

And apparently, everyone already knows. Everyone except him. Why would he know? (Why _would_ he know?)

A girl. _A girl._ Pidge is a girl, with girl things and girl… _things._

They have other things to worry about right now but the revelation nags at him the whole time. He can’t stop thinking about it. It beats around the back of his mind, a little fluttering bit of _something._

It’s not until later that Lance finally gets the chance to approach Pidge about it.

 

Lance knocks on Pidge’s door.

“Come in!” Pidge calls and the door slides open.

Pidge’s room is a couple of degrees warmer than Lance’s, and Lance feels the heat settle on his skin, warmth almost thick in the air. He swallows.

“Hey,” Pidge glances up from their laptop. (Her? Lance is still having a hard time wrapping his head around it all.) “You need something?”

“Um, yeah. Well, sort of.” Lance looks around the room. It doesn’t look particularly… girly. He doesn’t know why it would, really. (He was just kind of hoping.)

After a beat, Pidge prompts, “What?”

“So you’re a girl?” Lance blurts out, blunt and uncouth.

Immediately, something in Pidge’s posture changes. Stiffer, more defensive. “Yeah. Biologically female.”

“So a girl?”

“Yes.” Pidge replies tersely.

“So do you have any… girl stuff?”

“What.” Pidge’s tone and eyes go absolutely flat.

“Like, you know.” It’s very hot in the room. “Skirts and makeup and shit.”

“Get out.” Lance wants to laugh it off but Pidge sounds very, very serious.

“What?”

“I said get out! Get out of my fucking room, Lance!” Pidge’s voice rises and Lance flinches.

“Jesus, calm-”

“No, I will not calm down! I fucking trusted you and you throw it back in my face because now that I’m a girl, you can’t keep it in your pants?! Get the fuck out!” Pidge starts to stand and Lance bolts because he’s a coward.

He slows down when he’s far enough away to consider himself safe. “Fuck.” He scrubs the heel of his palm across the ridge of his eyebrow. His cheeks still feel so hot. _“Fuck.”_

 

Lance tries to catch Pidge before breakfast but they’ve already gone down to the kitchens. Everyone is there when Lance arrives, chatting like nothing is different, but as soon as Lance enters the room, Pidge’s attention snaps to him, taut and angry. Nobody else notices the glare that seems to radiate from the small person and Lance thinks maybe he can resolve this before something bad really happens.

“Pidge, can I talk to you for a sec?” He tries.

“No!” The word is so uncharacteristically loud and angry that the whole table turns to look.

Shiro is the first to speak. “Pidge, is something wrong?”

“Pidge-” Lance knows there’s pleading note in his voice, because this really can’t happen, _this can’t happen._ But he should know not a touch a ticking bomb, and Pidge explodes.

“No! You don’t get to ask me to keep secrets for you because you can’t control yourself, you pervert! You don’t get to pin this on me!”

“What-” Shiro starts, concern etched into the lines of his face, and he has never looked at Lance this way before.

“Lance came to my room last night and asked me if I  was really a girl and if I had skirts and makeup to wear, so he could- I don’t even want to think about-” Pidge’s face twists up, disgusted. ( _Disgusting._ )

“Oh my god, Lance, you can’t be serious!” Keith spits.

“I- I wasn’t-” Lance starts to feebly defend himself but Shiro cuts in.

“Is this true, Lance?”

“It wasn’t like-”

“Did you go to Pidge’s room last night, Lance?” Lance flinches at the aggressiveness of Shiro’s voice. It’s the fierce protectiveness of family and Lance knows, _he knows,_ he’s going to answer this question and he’s not going to be apart of that anymore. But he can’t lie. (Doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about, but his word will never be taken over Pidge’s and he can already feel family slipping away from him. It’s too late anyway.)

“Yes.” He says softly.

The room is quiet. Disquieted.

“Oh, Lance.” Hunk can’t even meet Lance’s eyes and disappointment soaks his words. That cuts deep.

“I can’t fucking believe you.” Keith hisses.

Shiro rises and Lance takes a step back. Everything about him is unforgiving.  “This is unacceptable. I will not allow someone to be a part of our team if this is how they act to their fellow paladins. I think you should take a break from Voltron.”

Everyone at the table looks shocked. Lance feels cold and somehow not like anything at all. He thinks his hands are trembling.

The rage in Pidge’s eyes flickers out, and underneath, Lance sees the hurt that must have been there all along. “Shiro… I think that might be extreme,” they say. “To form Voltron, we need-”

“This is not negotiable. Lance is suspended from Voltron.” Shiro’s voice hardens. “Indefinitely.”

Something in Lance bursts.

“I never wanted Pidge to wear the skirts and makeup, _I wanted to wear them!_ ”

He wanted to feel the fall of skirt against his thighs, he wanted to feel the heavy sway of fabric flowing off his hips, he wanted to feel shimmery powder in the corners of his eyes and sweetness on his lips, like he did when he was safe and loved with his sister, who’s somewhere millions and millions of light years away. He did not want this.

He did not want to be cast out but, of course, _of course, how could he forget,_ he’s disgusting. He is wrong. He doesn’t belong.

He didn’t want this.

But somehow, he can’t bring himself to be surprised.

Part of him knows that this is all because they thought he was taking advantage of Pidge’s trust, not because he wanted to… wanted to…

But he has always known that wanting what he wants is infinitely worse than being a regular (sleazy, pervy, not really excusable at all) _boy_ who can’t control their hormones. Better to be attracted to girls and their girl things than to want those girl things for himself. His family tolerated it, maybe, but even his sister told him he shouldn’t wear it out of the house. (And he hadn’t been planning to do that here either, but he only wanted to wear a skirt in his own room for an hour, just to take the edge off the _wanting._ )

Besides… this is not his family. (Not anymore.)

“What?” Keith is staring at him. They are all staring.

Lance stares back for a second. His vision blurs. He stumbles backwards, hands catching on the door frame. (And they’re shaking, he thinks all of him might be shaking.) He turns and runs.

He locks himself in his room. He sits curled up in the corner of his bathroom until the lights in the castle go off. (He only throws up once, right when he closes the door behind himself.)

Once the castle is silent with sleep, he goes to the kitchen to eat, allowing himself a few risky minutes to prepare food before he brings it back to his room.

Lance doesn’t know what to do with himself. He knows he’s not really stuck here- he locked himself in here- but he’s not really apart of Voltron anymore, is he? That’s what Shiro had said. Lance doesn’t know how far that extends. It must extend to the training room, maybe the common area.

He sees the empty plate on his bedside table.

He shouldn’t have taken that.

Maybe it extends to the kitchens. Maybe it extends to his bedroom, the whole castle. Maybe he’s not apart of anything anymore.

He wants to curl up in his bed and cry himself to sleep but now he feels like he can’t touch anything.

 _God, he’s so stupid._ Pidge was right. He really just can’t control himself.

He thinks he’s hyperventilating.

He stumbles into the bathroom but he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, cheeks bright red like the first time he used blush and didn’t understand moderation. He kind of wants to cry. He thinks he might already be crying.

He closes his eyes, hands gripping the edge of the sink. It’s cool against his palms. _Calm down. Calm down. Breathe._

He inhales. It’s shuddering, but it’s there.

 _Right, right, okay._ He can think this through rationally.

The team probably doesn’t want to see him for a bit, but that’s okay. He wouldn’t either, he guesses. Shiro told him to take a break from Voltron because he thought that Lance was coming onto Pidge (god, thinking about it that way makes his skin crawl), not because he knew Lance wanted to wear a girl’s things. Lance doesn’t know if that changes anything. (Or makes it worse.) But at the very least, he can sleep in his own bed. It’s his. They’re not going to kick him off the ship. (He hopes.)

Blood flows back into his fingertips, tingly and warm, as he releases his hold on the sink.

Mostly, he just regrets telling them. It's not like he hasn't had practice keeping his thoughts, these thoughts, under wraps. How did he think this was going to go down anyway? That he would just waltz up to Pidge, take a couple of skirts to his room, and never give them back? Cause that's not suspicious at all. _Ha._

He just has to push through this. Lance doesn't see any other good, remotely _possible,_ option. (Some options he thinks about and his heart clenches with want, but _possible,_ he reminds himself, _possible._ )

He thought he would toss and turn all night, but exhaustion pulls him under quickly and deeply.

 

An alarm goes off, lighting his room up blue. Nothing serious, just group training, but right now it feels like the most serious thing in the universe. He tries to turn off all the doubt in the back of his mind.

When he gets to the training deck, he can already hear the low murmur of voices, the zap of lasers, the clash of metal. He only gets to the entryway before he stills, hands skimming over the door’s frame. Shiro’s in there. Pidge is in there. They’re all in there (and they all _know, oh god)._

_Stop thinking about it._

Shiro’s eyes dart around the room, scanning for more threats, but land on Lance instead.

“Hey,” Lance forces a smile onto his face and thinks about his voice swinging upwards. “Can I join?” When no one answers, he gives an awkward, painful laugh. “Or is this also a part of the whole suspended indefinitely thing?”

Shiro swallows, voice thick. “That isn’t a thing. There is no suspended indefinitely thing. I- I misjudged you, Lance, and I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, let’s just forget about it.” Shiro opens his mouth to say more, but Lance cuts him off, desperation straining in his tone. _“Let’s just forget about it.”_

Lance breathes a sigh of relief as Shiro nods, despite the regret still obvious in his face. The black paladin gestures him into the center with the rest of them.

Physically, they work together as well as usual. They defend together, they attack together. But there’s a subtle creeping of wrongness. No one is making eye contact with him. When they call his name in warning, there’s a second more of delay than before. (He can tell because blasts he should be catching straight on his shield keep glancing off the sides or scorching lines on his armor.) And when he defends his teammates, throwing out his shield arm to block a laser directed at Keith, the most he gets is a choked, near silent, “Thanks.” They don’t say his name unless they absolutely have to.

It’s not a big deal. It’s really a very small deal. Lance can work like this. At least he gets to work like this. At least they didn’t kick him off the team.

He wonders how long it will be until things are back to normal. If things go back to normal. If he gets to be normal again. (It’s kind of funny really; They’re flying robotic lions through outer space and somehow, he’s still worrying about being normal.)

They’re all ready to collapse, panting breathes and pounding heartbeats, when Shiro finally says they’re done for the day. They begin to file out of the room.

“Hey, Pidge?” Lance’s voice is scratchy from exertion. Pidge glances back and slows their step to hang towards the end of the group with Lance. They raise their eyebrows. “I just, um-” A cough wracks through his lungs. He hits his fist against his chest before continuing, “I wanted to apologize. I know that whole situation was really not cool of me. I really didn’t- I didn’t mean it that way. The way you thought I meant it. I would totally understand if you don’t believe me. I know I flirt with like, everything. But I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t disrespect you like that. I wouldn’t do that to you. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, or like you didn’t belong. I wouldn’t want you to feel like that.”

“Do you feel like that?” The light catches on the rim of Pidge’s glasses as they tilt their head up. Lance suddenly feels like he’s under a spotlight.

“I, um-” It hurts to swallow and maybe it’s because he hasn’t been drinking enough water but he doesn’t think so.

He’s saved from his flailing as Pidge says, “Well, I believe you.”

“Really?” The words comes out in one anxious breath.

“Yeah.” Pidge affirms carelessly. “It makes more sense. I mean, I knew you were a jerk but not that much of a jerk.”

An honest smile tilts up the corners of his mouth. “Ha, thanks. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Oh, it wasn’t.” Pidge quickly refutes, but they’re smiling. Lance feels something in his heart ease, just a little.

 

There are a few different reactions once Lance really narrows it down. Pidge is clearly over it, and that’s more than Lance had dared to hope for. Allura and Coran don’t quite… get it. Altean culture prescribes to a whole nother set of complicated norms that Lance is glad he doesn’t have to conform to. Hunk is the first one to force him to face it head on, knocking on Lance’s door that night.

“You can just come in!” Hunk enters the room purposefully, like he’s on a mission. “Oh, Hunk. Hey.” Lance says as he looks up.

“Can we talk, Lance?”

“Um, yeah, I guess.”

Hunk sits down on the bed with Lance. He opens his mouth, seems to change his mind, closes his mouth, and then opens it again. “How are you?” They both wince together at the pure clunkiness of the phrase. Hunk is the first to laugh it away. “This is stupid. I don’t want this to be weird between us. I just wanted to tell you that I’m still going to be your friend, no matter what happens or who you are. Or what gender you are.”

“Oh, I’m not- I’m not a girl. Not that being a girl is bad! I’m just not. A girl. I mean… yeah, nope. I’m a boy. So…” Lance feels his face flushing.

“Oh, okay?” Hunk’s brow wrinkles. “But you were telling the truth when you said you wanted to wear Pidge’s stuff, right? Not the other way around? Because frankly, if not, that’s really-”

“No, no, I was! Sometimes I just like to wear girl’s stuff, you know? I used to wear my sister’s at home but she’s obviously not here because we’re in outer space and I never wore it out of the house anyway, that’d be really stupid, I mean, I guess I’ve already been kind of stupid so I don’t how much more of a mess I can make, but I still really want to. I mean, Allura’s dresses are so-” _Woah, shut up!_ Lance shuts up. He doesn’t even know half of what he babbled and Hunk’s just sitting there blinking. “Her dresses are so hot? On her. Because she’s hot?” His voice trails off on a question that isn’t working as an excuse at all, he can tell. He cringes.

“It’s okay, Lance. You can wear whatever you want to wear. We’re not going shun you, or shame you, or anything.”

“Or suspend me indefinitely from Voltron?” Lance almost laughs, but he chokes on it.

Hunk looks concerned. “You know Shiro didn’t mean that, right?”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure he meant it.”

“Not now, though. Not after you told us why. You know we were just worried about Pidge, but that doesn’t mean we don’t care about you. Shiro feels awful. He feels like he backed you into a corner until there was only one way out.”

“Well, he kind of did, didn’t he?”

“Weren’t you going to tell us eventually? You weren’t going to keep this secret forever, were you?”

Lance just shakes his head. A sadness passes through Hunk’s eyes, deep and hurt.

“Lance…”

“No, Hunk, I shouldn’t have even asked Pidge in the first place. It’s wrong. I know it’s wrong for a boy to… whatever. Besides, I never did it at the Garrison, it’s not like I need to do it.” Lance lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s just a stupid me thing. I really should have grown out of it by now.”

He waits for Hunk to leave but the yellow paladin asks abruptly, “What were you going to say about Allura’s dresses?”

Lance’s eyes dart away. “Nothing.”

Hunk just looks at him.

Lance swallows. His confession comes out as a whisper. “They’re pretty. That’s all I was going to say.”

“Do you want-”

“No!” Hunk freezes and cold guilt drips into Lance’s stomach. Lance scrubs his hands down his face. “Sorry. I know you’re trying, Hunk, but just let it go. Just let it go.”

“Okay.” Hunk replies softly. He holds out a hand. “Still friends?”

Lance smiles as he takes it, letting his hand be encapsulated in warmth. “Always.”

 

Shiro handles it as eloquently as he handles everything else. He attempts to apologize more than once, and finally, Lance has to tell him very clearly to stop.

_Look, man, I know you’re sorry, and I get why you said what you said, but you can’t keep bringing this up. How is anyone going to forget if you keep reminding them? I really need people to just forget._

Shiro settles for confirming his pronouns, to which Lance vehemently replies that they’re male, masculine, he’s a boy and he needs everyone to just forget anything ever happened.

Keith is the problem. He’s seems angry, which frustrates Lance because of course Keith would be angry. Sure, Lance was the one accused of being a pervert, sure, Lance was the one threatened with expulsion from Voltron, and sure, Lance was the one who had to tell his most embarrassing secret to his whole crew, but Keith is the one who gets to be angry. Of course.

And it doesn’t feel like his usual angry, a bantering, competitive, almost playful thing. No, this feels much more real. Keith will just sort of glare at Lance when he thinks he isn’t looking and turn away when Lance whips around. He’ll leave as soon as possible when they’re training together. Lance can’t even remember the last time they talked.

It just makes him feel even less normal than before.

And it honestly sucks.

He wants to complain about how unfair it is. It’s not like he’s shoving this down anyone’s throat. It’s not like he’s wearing anything remotely girly, or even has anything to wear. He hasn’t brought it up since that day. _He wants people to forget._ But Keith, Keith has apparently decided that now Lance is not to be treated the same, and Lance wants to say he’s annoyed or frustrated but he knows it’s more than that. He’s hurt and ashamed.

Other than Keith though, the next few days on the castle are pretty normal.

And then, they’re not.

 

“Lance, come open your door!” a muffled voice calls from outside his room.

Lance presses his palm against the scanner, sending the door sliding open, and promptly backs away as he sees Pidge holding a stack of clothes that the rim of their glasses just barely peeks over. “Woah, hey, what’re you doing?”

Pidge drops the clothes on his bed and oh, oh no, those aren’t- “Honestly, Lance, I don’t know what you were thinking. Even if I did own girl clothes, which I don’t, because why would I if I was pretending be a boy, I’m not even close to your size. Clearly, Allura would be a better bet for both of those reasons, so I don’t know why you didn’t ask her-”

“Pidge!” Lance whispers/screams, slamming the door pad closed before anyone else can look into his room and see what’s happening. “I can’t- I can’t take these! W-why would you even-”

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Pidge adjusts their glasses and Lance wants to die.

“Pidge, no, I don’t want these! These are girl’s clothes-”

“And makeup.”

“Not helpful! I can’t have these in my room!”

“Well, if you really don’t want them, you can give them back to Allura-”

“No, no, I can’t! The reason I asked you in the first place is because Allura is freakin’ scary and there’s no way I can just waltz down the hallways holding a bunch of Allura’s dresses to-”

“And skirts.”

“Pidge! I’m being serious!”

“Well, I guess you’re seriously stuck with them then.”

And then they fucking walk out. Leaving Lance with the… with the…

(He really wants to look at them. He should really just shove them under his bed, but he really wants to look at them.)

He fingers the clothes, a full length skirt slick and sheen in his hands. This one is delicate and shimmery white, clear jewels beaded to drip down from the waistband. Another one is a flowing dress, stretchy fabric stained with dark hues that echoes up from the hem. Before he’s even thinking about it, he holding a pleated blue (aquamarine, he knows it’s aquamarine) skirt up against his hips. He looks in the mirror and freezes as he realizes what he’s doing.

_No, no, no, you can’t, you can’t, YOU CAN’T._

He rips open one of his dresser drawers and stuffs all Allura’s clothes into it. He slides down against the side of his bed once the last item is crammed in and buries his face in his hands. Distressed tears sting in the corners of his eyes.

He wants to blame Pidge, but he knows they’re not the one to blame.

When he goes down to dinner, Pidge says offhandedly, “You’re always wearing the same old jeans and jacket, Lance. Maybe you should try something new.”

“Pidge!” Lance hisses.

But Keith, Keith mutters a “tch,” stands up and _leaves._

Lance locks his eyes on the table as they begin to burn. His hands clench on his thighs.

“Geez, what’s his problem?” Pidge says loudly.

“I- I’m going to go too. Excuse me.”

“But you didn’t even-”

“I’m not hungry.” He half walks, half runs out of the dinner space.

He ends up sitting on his bed for a good portion of the next hour, feeling like his heart is being drained out of his chest. He’s so tired of this already, god, he should have just kept his mouth shut.

(Even with all of that, he ends up folding the clothes Pidge brought him. He tells himself that it’s because Allura would be pissed if he gave back clothes with wrinkles, not because he wants to see them again, feel the fabric against his skin again. (It’s not like he’s really going to bring them back anyway.))

 

He can’t resist the temptation for more than a couple days. They’re right there, just sitting in his drawer. Maybe if he did something really, really small…

It’s so late anyway; no one’s coming to his room. It will be like he never even did it at all.

That’s what he tells himself.

He tells himself it’s different if it’s something that can just wash off. He tells himself he can’t even see it anyway. He tells himself he could literally just wipe it away with his fingers, so is it even really there?

It’s just a little bit of eyeshadow.

(His hands shake as he rubs his pinky in the powder, running it along his eyelid in a streak of copper. He blinks at his reflection and his reflection winks back, eyes glittering with eyeshadow and excitement.)

He tells himself the color barely stands out against his skin. He tells himself they’re basically the same color.

(He dabs a seashell white on the inner corners of his eyes and a darker brown on the outer edges.)

He stares at himself for a long time. He tells himself there's nothing to see.

(His eyes pop now, an illusion of definition but a very real brightness in his eyes. He leaves little fingerprints of shimmer on his clothes and the counter and even that is kind of beautiful. He feels kind of beautiful. He wants to leave it on.)

He washes it off and scrubs down the area around his sink, watching the powder turn dull under the water. He puts everything away and tells himself this is the last time.

(Next time, he tries blue.)

 

It's not so bad like this. Sure, it's another secret, but a secret is a secret is a secret and Lance already gave away one, so what's another to keep? It's fine. _It's fine._

Lance plops down into a chair to eat his breakfast. Hunk is the only one still there, washing dishes. It's calm and quiet for a few minutes, just the clink of utensils and the soft hiss of the faucet. Hunk turns the water off and it takes a second for Lance to realize that the other boy isn't moving to do anything else. He looks up to see Hunk staring at him, leaning closer over the counter with furrowed eyebrows.

“Um, Hunk? Buddy? Something on my face?”

“Yeah? Yeah, something.” Hunk agrees hesitantly. “I think it's eyeshadow?”

Lance freezes with a napkin halfway to his face.

“Shit, shit.” Hunk reels back as Lance reaches into the sink to wet his napkin. He frantically wipes at his eyelids. (He must have forgotten to take it off last night. Did anyone else see him with it on? How obvious was it?)

Lance swallows as the cloth comes away smeared with color.

“Can you still see it?” He demands. Hunk’s eyes nervously dart around Lance's face.

“No?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes? But Lance, you-”

“You can’t tell anyone! I promise, I’m gonna stop, but Pidge gave me some of Allura’s stuff and I just haven’t given it back yet, but I will! It’s just a one time thing, I swear-”

“I was just going to say you looked nice.” More softly, Hunk says, “It’s really not a big deal.”

Lance bits his lip and looks down at the counter. He shakes his head. He hears Hunk sigh.

“I’m just saying, you always look prettier when you’re happy.”

“Really?” He can’t help himself. (Obviously, because if he could, he wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.)

Hunk nods and something warms flowers out from the center of Lance’s chest. A blush heats his cheeks.

“Okay.” Lance whispers. A tentative smile hints at his lips.

 

He starts to do it more. He’s putting on makeup almost every night now and washing it off before he goes to bed. (Usually. Okay, he’s forgotten more than once to take it off. He hasn’t worn it out of his room again, but he keeps staining his pillowcase.) He’s broadened his horizons. Sometimes he uses the lipstick, which lays on his lips sticky and takes a lot of scrubbing to get off. (Well to be fair, he thinks it’s lipstick. Space makeup has some weird quirks, but it’s similar enough to matte lipstick that he just pretends it is.) There was also some green and blue blush he tried, that had been fun.

He’s not going to lie, sometimes he looks absolutely terrible. (He thought maybe he could match that blue blush with his eyes, but nope, he looks like he’s dying of hypothermia.) But sometimes, he actually looks… nice. Just a little gloss, a little shimmer, and he knows some girls complain about the weight of makeup on their face but it makes him feel lighter.

The first time he tries on one of the skirts, he almost has a panic attack.

He slips it on after a shower, a split second decision to grab it with his change of clothes, and as soon as it touches his skin, he's gripped the the idea that he didn't lock the door. Someone could walk in on him _right now._

He throws the skirt down on the floor and runs to the door to check. It's locked. He turns to go back into the bathroom and gets all of three steps before he turns around again, just to make sure. Still locked. He goes back in the bathroom and locks that door too.

He holds his breath as he tugs the skirt on. It's snug on his waist, the wide band stretching over his hipbones. The pleats fall just under his knees and because he can, and he's alone, and he has this, he spins. The pleats fan out beneath him, revealing blues that had been hidden under black creases. A breeze kicks up near his feet as they dance across the tile.

Finally, he falls against the wall, dizzy and giddy. A giggle bursts in his chest.

He can't believe he just did that.

His eyes widen and his shirt wrinkles under the grip of his fist.

_He can't believe he just did that._

His breathing, only slightly labored from spinning, turns heaving and uncontrolled. He's slipped to the floor now but his lightheaded dizziness spikes. The threat of passing out sinks it's claws into the back of his neck.

He forcibly uncurls his hand from his shirt and tries to let his hands lay relaxed on his knees. He has to uncurl them again when his nails start to dig into his skin. Eventually, his breaths start to even but maybe only because his body’s self-preservation instincts wrest back control from his panic.

The skirt still pools around him, hiding his training bruised shins. He counts the pleats in his head until he has to change into pajamas and go to sleep.

 

Being found out is almost a relief. It feels like he's just been holding his breath, waiting for the slip up that ends it all, and even though his lungs have burst, at least he's not _waiting and waiting_ anymore. He just wishes it wasn't Keith.

Lance doesn't even hear the door slide open. No, he's too busy trying to line his lips, which was going fine until he hears someone say from behind him, “Woah.”

The liner smudges down over his top lip as he whips around. “Keith!” His voice comes out as a squeak but Lance doesn't even care because this is already worst case scenario. He covers his mouth with his hand to hide the lipstick but he's wearing a fucking _dress,_ so honestly, what does it even matter that Keith sees him in lipstick? Hot shame licks through his veins.

Keith's gaze trails over Lance's body. His eyes are widened, just barely, and something flickers across them but Lance doesn't know what. Lance sees him swallow hard.

“I came to tell you to come down for dinner.” Keith’s voice sounds strained.

Lance nods jerkily, hand still over his mouth, and _why isn’t Keith leaving?_

“Okay.” Lance bites out but still, Keith stares. “I’m going to change.” He tries to put some force behind his words, trying to project, _GET OUT._

“You don’t have to change.” Keith looks almost as surprised as Lance at the sudden utterance.

“Why, so you can make fun of me? No thanks.” Lance scoffs. “I know you don’t think boys should dress like this and whatever, but you don’t have-”

“What? No, I don’t!”

“Yeah, right! You don’t even want to be in the same room as me anymore!”

“Not because I think boys can’t wear girls’ clothes!”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” He’s getting too loud.

Keith snarls, “Because you’re wearing a dress!”

“What the fuck does that even mean?!”

“Forget it. Wear whatever the fuck you want! Why do you even care what I think? It’s not like you need my approval!”

“No, but I need you to treat me like a fucking human being!” Lance knows he’s said too much when Keith immediately shuts up. “Whatever, man. I’ll be down in a few minutes. You can just… go.”

Keith growls, running a hand through his hair. “I’m doing this wrong. I just wanted to say you really don’t have to change.” Lance fixes Keith with a skeptical look, but the red paladin only glares at the ground.

“Okay.” Lance breathes. Keith’s head jerks up. “I’m still gonna change into something less, you know, obtrusive. But it’ll be something nice, I guess.”

“Okay.” Their eyes meet for a split second before Keith looks away again.

“Okay.” There's an awkward pause. “So I'm gonna change now…” Lance raises his eyebrows.

“Right!” Keith jolts and his cheeks turn red. “I'm going to go!”

“Right.” Lance grins as Keith rushes out. The door slides closed behind the red paladin. “Right.” This time, the word is barely a whisper as the reality sets back in.

Lance glances at himself in the mirror. Something nice? Something small and simple and pretty and… nice.

He takes off most of his makeup, except for the thinnest coating of eyeshadow. He throws on his usual (normal) shirt and underneath, he puts on a skirt. It's just blue, no sparkles, no jewels, no pleats. Just smooth fabric ending a little above his knee. Just something small, simple, pretty, and… nice.

Lance steels himself. This is worth it. This has to be worth it.

Keith jolts when Lance opens the door and Lance smirks. “Alright, let’s go.” Keith nods.

As they walk down the hallway, it’s hard not to notice Keith’s gaze flickering to Lance before darting away each time. Eventually, Keith murmurs, “You look… nice.”

Lance glances over but Keith is looking straight ahead. “I told you I’d wear something nice, didn’t I?” Keith scoffs, but it sounds like a laugh.

When they reach the dining area, Lance almost stops, something icy sinking into his legs, but Keith walks right in. Lance follows.

He goes straight for his seat, sitting down as quickly as possible. “Hey, so, um-” He doesn’t look anyone in the eyes. “What are we having?”

Allura’s eyes narrow. “Is that my-” She turns to Pidge, who's glare speaks louder than any words. “Oh. Ah, I see. Well I suppose I never did wear those much anyway.”

Pidge grins at Lance, announcing, “I think you look great, Lance.” Lance feels his cheeks heat and mumbles an embarrassed thanks.

“Yeah,” Hunk agrees. “It goes with your eyes? Is that something people say?”

“Indeed,” Allura nods. “Though I suppose it's expected that blue is your color.”

“Okay, okay!” Lance waves his hands. “It's fine, guys. You don't have to say stuff just to make me feel better, geez.”

The table stares at him. “Lance…” Shiro intones, something like disappointment in his voice.

Lance sinks down in his seat. “Sorry,” he says meekly, but he's not really sure what he's apologizing for.

Shiro sighs. “You don't have to apologize, Lance. If anything, we should be apologizing to you.”

“No, no, that's-” Shiro holds up a hand and Lance's mouth snaps shut.

“We all want you to feel like you are accepted here, however you are. You are our teammate and our friend. Voltron would not be the same without you, and this team would not be the same without you. It's not what you look like or what you wear that made the Blue Lion choose you. It was who you are. And who you are, all of who you are, is who we all know and love. You don't have to change. Okay?”

Lance's chest is still tight with nerves. He has held this secret for _so long._ He's not sure he knows how to let it go. But he knows, _he knows,_ he is desperate to try.

“Okay.”

 

It's takes a while. No one expected years of conditioning to be undone in days. But a couple of weeks pass and Lance occasionally wears a skirt, experimenting with color and length. To one planetary reception, he wears a full length dress. (To be fair, it really is the nicest thing he owns.) A few more weeks and he's wearing more and more makeup outside of his room. Sometimes it's as simple as a streak of blush, sometimes it's eyes and mouth done up to the nines. The biggest shift, however, isn't so easily seen.

Lance is uneasy in his own skin for weeks. Then, it's constant awareness of what he may be wearing one day or the next. It takes a long time for him to be comfortable with what he wants and what he looks like. And after all of that, the uneasiness and the awareness and finally being comfortable, he really starts to feel beautiful. He feels accepted.

He thinks he understands now what the meaning of family really is.

**Author's Note:**

> To clarify, Lance was born male and uses male pronouns, but his gender is more along the lines of genderfluid. Also, Klance sequel in the works, I just wanted to get this out for Trans VLD Week and it made sense to split it up anyway.
> 
> And check out the inspired work below, Long Legs and Short Skirts, because it's absolutely adorable and everything I ever wanted in life

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Long Legs and Short Skirts](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326341) by [dontstudywritenovels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontstudywritenovels/pseuds/dontstudywritenovels)




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